


We Waited Long Enough

by syrupfactory



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multiple Orgasms, One Shot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Thirsty Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupfactory/pseuds/syrupfactory
Summary: "Now that we've become ... intimate. Well, to be honest, I can scarcely think of anything else."After a few months of (finally) officially dating, Aziraphale is a little hurt when Crowley seems amused by his eagerness for sex. Why? Because Aziraphale actually wants way, way more. Fortunately, that's a fun problem to solve.





	We Waited Long Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd never write smut for these two, but here we are. I'm marking this as complete, but a second chapter is not impossible!
> 
> This fic can be reblogged on tumblr [here](https://meowdejavu.tumblr.com/post/187715206848/we-waited-long-enough).

It's a quiet, rainy day in London, and Aziraphale has just sat down at his desk with some tea and biscuits for a mid-morning snack. He's gazing out the water-streaked window, perfectly content, when Crowley appears beside him. 

“Would you like some, dear?” he offers, smiling in surprise and giving his plate a little nudge. 

He’s still getting used to (and relishing every moment of) cohabitation.

“_Actually_,” Crowley replies, sounding a bit playful. “I was rather hoping we could have _sex _immediately.”

Aziraphale’s heart does a giddy little flip, and a tingle of excitement dances across his pelvis. After only a few months as romantic partners, he’s appreciating and enjoying Crowley’s boldness at every turn. 

“Oh! Alright!” he responds, promptly standing, ready to pull Crowley into a warm embrace.

Instead, Crowley laughs, holding up his hands. “Angel, I’m only joking! Finish your snack first.”

Aziraphale blinks, dropping slowly back into his chair. “That’s an odd sort of joke.”

He idly picks up a biscuit and tries a bite only to find the flavor lacking.

“Do you know,” Crowley goes on, apparently still amused. “That no matter what you’re doing—no matter how preoccupied you happen to be—you’ve never once hesitated for even a _ moment _when I’ve propositioned you?”

Aziraphale swallows a sip of tea, confused. “You say that as though it’s a game and you’re keeping score.”

“Not a game,” Crowley says from the sofa next to the desk, where he’s now sprawled out. “More like an ... experiment of sorts. It’s charming.” 

“_Charming_?” Aziraphale asks, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice anymore. 

“Wait,” Crowley says, posture and tone shifting with alarm. “What’s wrong? It was only a bit of fun! I wondered if there was anything I could _ possibly _interrupt where you’d tell me to piss off, that’s all.”

Aziraphale dabs his lips with a napkin. “Well, your little experiment makes me feel a bit foolish, you see.”

At once, Crowley leaps away from the sofa and slips into what’s become a common and comfortable position draped across Aziraphale’s lap, taking his face in his hands and kissing his forehead in apology. Aziraphale appreciates the gesture, but there’s an invisible weight resting on his chest.

“Come now, why _ foolish_?” Crowley asks softly. “That was never my intention, love.”

Abruptly, Aziraphale feels choked by sadness, struggling and failing to find the words to properly answer that question. The feeling must be written on his face, because when he lifts his gaze, Crowley full-on panics. 

“Angel, no,” he says, scrambling to hold Aziraphale by the shoulders. “Darling, listen. I’ve gone about this all wrong, I see that. I’m sorry. I never thought it would _ hurt _you. No more experiments. Let me make it up to you, hmm?”

He really doesn't understand. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale starts with a sigh. “I waited for this—_we _ waited for this—for so long. _ So _ long. And now we’re here, and we can be _ together_. There are moments when I look at you and I can still hardly believe it. I adore you.”

Crowley is nodding along, nervously rubbing Aziraphale’s shoulder. “It’s the same for me, you know it is.”

“And now that we’ve become … intimate,” Aziraphale goes on, letting the word hang in the air and gathering his courage. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I can scarcely think of anything else. Being with you—making love to you—is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever… I want you_ all the time_. I crave it, no matter what else is going on. So, yes, I’m highly unlikely to turn you down.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley breathes, brow furrowed.

Aziraphale swallows. His ears are burning from voicing such a deeply personal confession, but he's glad to have been truthful. 

“When you’d come to me so suddenly and ask, I thought perhaps _ that _was the same for you, as well.”

“Listen to me, love,” Crowley says, stroking his cheek. “It _ is _ the same for me. The whole reason—fuck, I should have lead with that—the whole reason I got curious about interrupting you was because I can hardly think of anything else, either! My timing may have been comical, but the desire was always genuine. I was _ never _joking about wanting you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replies, breathless, the weight lifting. “Yes. You might’ve lead with that.”

“I wasn’t mocking,” Crowley adds in a smaller voice. “I would never. I love you.”

“And I love you, my dear.”

Aziraphale pulls him into a kiss, and Crowley eagerly responds, grasping the base of his neck, holding him close. Aziraphale feels his whole body blush to think that they’ve been on equal footing the whole time, after all. 

After a while, Crowley pulls back to look him in the eyes again. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asks softly, sweetly. “If you wanted it more? _ You _could have come to me anytime, too, you know.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, glancing idly downward. “I don’t know. I rather thought it was ridiculous how _ much _I… I thought I’d match your appetite and maybe eventually it would ... calm down?”

“Come here,” Crowley says, shaking his head, pulling him into another kiss. “I got this all wrong, I’m sorry. I’m here for you, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale returns the affection, melting a bit at Crowley using the word _ sweetheart _for the first time. 

“You're taking me to bed now,” Crowley purrs while trailing kisses down his neck. “And we aren’t leaving until you’re _ completely _satisfied, alright?”

Aziraphale whines, a sudden jolt of arousal coursing through him with such potency that it's nearly painful, leaving him dizzy and reflexively gripping Crowley’s thigh through his snug trousers. 

“I’m afraid we may be there for a decade in that case.”

Crowley laughs breathily. “I like the sound of that. We waited long enough, didn’t we?”

“Oh, yes. We did.”

In a flash, they’re in bed in their upstairs flat, and in another, their clothes have vanished entirely. 

Aziraphale is swiftly above Crowley, rocking his hips against him, both of them fully erect and hard as stone. It’s truly magnificent, Aziraphale muses, just _ how _hard the engorged penis becomes, how he can feel it pulsating as though his heart has relocated there, how it twitches and throbs in delicious anticipation. 

Crowley draws up his knees, ready to receive him, and that’s all the prompting Aziraphale needs. He slips inside easily thanks to some miraculous lubrication, and they both whine in relief. As he sinks in, full to the hilt, everything else seems to disappear so that all that’s left is this gloriously snug, slick heat that he can never get out of his head now that’s he’s felt it. It’s not just the feeling, of course, nor the physical act, but the knowledge that it’s _ Crowley_, that they can interlock themselves in this way and discover mutual ecstasy.

Neither of them had ever taken human lovers; there was simply no desire or drive to do so. Though Aziraphale had formed numerous personal connections with all sorts of lovely people, doing his best to encourage them to live their short lives to the fullest in terms of joy and compassion, he'd never experienced physical attraction to them, never hungered to touch or be touched. Crowley was, in that way and so many others, wholly singular. Copulation was a thrilling new path they'd forged together, and each time they joined their bodies was at least as exquisite and surprising and wonderful as the first.

Crowley pulls him to his lips, savoring his mouth like he’s starving for it, while Aziraphale starts to move. Slowly, at first, as usual. He's accustomed to trying to pace himself in order to relish every second of the act, to draw it out as long as possible. All the while, he’d normally be dreading the end, which would come far too soon, when he’d have to get out of bed and be dressed and civil again.

“Angel,” Crowley says sweetly. “Take what you need. We’re not stopping until you’re ready. I promise.”

In reply, Aziraphale can only whimper, biting his lip and daring to move faster—faster, faster, with an urgency he’s previously only fantasized about.

Crowley gasps in surprise. “Holy hell, that’s it.”

At this pace, Aziraphale is approaching his peak far more quickly than he would have previously allowed himself, fucking into Crowley with wreckless abandon. When his orgasm hits, it crashes through his body with more force than he’s ever felt, leaving him seeing stars and moaning into Crowley’s shoulder. 

Crowley’s hands are in Aziraphale’s hair, fingers then trailing down his back, leaving his whole body shivering and limp in the aftermath of such explosive release. He starts to hoist himself up, to withdraw, but Crowley’s hands find his shoulders. 

“We don’t have to pause,” Crowley reminds him, cheeks rosy beneath his bright eyes. “Unless you’d like to.”

Aziraphale takes his meaning at once, holding his gaze while he miraculously grows hard again, all while still sheathed in Crowley’s body—yellow eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of being swiftly refilled. 

With a deep breath, Aziraphale starts to move again, and he could nearly cry from happiness to have the sensation again so soon. This time, Crowley slips a hand between them to stroke himself, and they’re coming in unison some moments later. 

Crowley’s skin is dewy and his face and chest flushed, and the sight is so beautiful it’s like looking at the sun. Aziraphale buries his face at his neck—how does he always smell _ so _ good? He waited so long to know him this way, to be so _ close _and to breathe his scent, and no amount could ever be enough.

“Ah, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers near his ear without really meaning to speak. “You’re so lovely, darling.”

The simple words are not nearly good enough for what he’s feeling, but then Crowley’s arms are encircling him, their brows resting together for a moment before Crowley answers. 

“I love you,” Crowley says, pressing a kiss to one side of Aziraphale’s face and then the other. “I love you so much, angel. I’m yours. I love you.”

Those words become a mantra as they carry on in the same fashion, falling into a rhythm and hardly even pausing after each time they come. Aziraphale completely loses himself to the feeling, to the closeness, to heat and skin and breath and lips, lets it consume him at a level he’s so dearly yearned for—a gnawing hunger finally being soothed. 

“Darling,” Aziraphale says when he’s lost track of time and orgasms, “you’ll tell me if you need me to stop, yes? Please, tell me if it’s too much or if you need to rest.”

Crowley kisses him with swollen lips, panting. “I’m on cloud fucking nine, right there with you. I don’t want to stop.”

Aziraphale can’t fight his smile well enough to kiss back properly. 

“Although,” Crowley goes on, “perhaps we could try a new angle.”

“Oh, oh, yes,” Aziraphale breathes. “Let’s.”

Crowley sits up, then, easing Aziraphale to the bed, kissing him all the while, keeping his hands on him as though he’s concerned that any retreat might be startling. It’s a beautiful new tenderness, though he was never lacking before.

Aziraphale sits with his back against the soft pillows, Crowley getting his long legs situated on either side of his lap. Before he’s even in place, Aziraphale reaches out and runs his fingertips over Crowley’s pale thighs—he can’t resist, and he’s rewarded with several twitches of his cock, curved and scarlet and achingly hard. 

“Ah-h,” Crowley laughs in reply, shaking with an apparent shudder and craning his neck.

They’ve barely been apart for a few minutes and Aziraphale can hardly think straight for how badly he wants him. 

“Good _ lord_,” he mutters. 

Crowley meets his gaze, his own eyes hazy, and sinks onto him with a devious smile that quickly morphs into a jaw dropped in ecstasy, his nose scrunching into his brow. The visual, coupled with the blissful sensation of being inside once more, is nearly enough to send Aziraphale over the edge before Crowley starts moving. 

When he does, it’s transcendent. Aziraphale lets his head dip back into the pillows, his hands gripping Crowley’s slender hips as he rides. After some time, Aziraphale rights himself, kissing his beautiful darling again and taking his lovely cock into a firm grasp, giving it a quick squeeze and feeling it throb in response. He starts to pump his fist, then, matching Crowley’s rhythm with his hand for just a few strokes. 

Crowley throws his head back and curses, and it only takes a couple more strokes before a thick white rope bursts from his tip. Aziraphale smiles and keeps his hand in place, working more gently as Crowley rides out the full orgasm, smaller spurts following the first. Any other time, Aziraphale might have felt torn between adoration and sinking disappointment that he’d come so quickly, but now, he can relax and cherish the moment for what it is, knowing they’ll keep going, knowing that there’s no end in sight. 

Crowley pulls him back to his lips, kissing him and panting all at once, swiftly hard again, his streaks of fluid vanished. Before now, they haven’t used miracles specifically to keep their bodies going like this, and it’s quickly become second nature. Aziraphale’s heart is at once dancing with giddiness and heavy with the weight of profound appreciation for his lover. He feels a bit like he’s glowing—not just from being loved so completely but being so acutely _ understood_. 

In this new arrangement, where each peak is not an ending but a jubilant refrain in a continuous opus, it becomes a fascination to see just how many times they come, how quickly they can get there together or, in contrast, how long they can hold off. Aziraphale’s head is swimming in one moment and sharply clear in the next, and he’s laughing or weeping and Crowley is kissing the tears from his cheeks and his hands are in Crowley’s hair and he’s beneath him and above him and it all becomes a blissful blur, an impossible kaleidoscope of so many unions of their bodies, and Aziraphale has never known such a pure and decadent indulgence. Truly, the only worry in his mind is that it’s up to him to declare a stopping point. 

They do rest, eventually, with an unspoken understanding that they’re not getting out of bed just yet. Crowley is lying against Aziraphale’s chest, sighing with contentment as Aziraphale runs his fingers lazily up and down Crowley’s back. 

“How long have we been here?” Aziraphale asks with a laugh. “I really don’t know.”

Crowley hums against him. “Nearly a full day.”

“Oh my. Somehow that’s … both more and less than I expected.”

In reply, Crowley moves up to plant a kiss on his jawline. Aziraphale looks him over after, rubbing his thumb across Crowley’s still-rosy cheek. 

“Thank you,” he says softly after screaming the words in his mind for nearly a day.

Crowley’s brow slightly furrows, though he’s smiling sweetly. “You needn’t thank me.”

“But I want to. I’d never have had the courage to ask you for this.”

“From now on, you’ll not hesitate, hmm?”

Aziraphale squeezes his arm, humming in agreement. He leans in to meet his lips and feels his heart flutter. Even after all they’ve done.

“I may wear you out yet,” Aziraphale mumbles. 

“Huh? Oh,” Crowley says, looking him in the eyes and smirking. “I do categorically doubt that.”

“It _ will _become … less all-consuming, don’t you think?” Aziraphale asks, more than a little concern seeping into his voice. 

“Oh, certainly, with time,” Crowley soothes. “It’s just new. For both of us. It won’t always be new.”

Aziraphale nods. “Indeed. We finally know what we were missing. Impossible to go back to _ not _knowing. Like tasting forb— Oh, good gracious, no. Bad metaphor.”

“_Wow_, no, please _do_ go on."

“I’m sorry!” Aziraphale whines, a bit mortified. “I spoke without thinking. Forget I said that.”

“Tempted you into this, did I?” Crowley teases, rolling onto his back and laughing.

“No!” Aziraphale cries, following him, feeling genuinely remorseful. “I didn’t mean it like that! You know … well _ do you _ know just how prevalent that expression is?!”

Crowley is swiftly up on his elbows again. “Original sin?! Yes, I’m _ vaguely _familiar.”

Aziraphale scoots closer to him. “I’m sorry, truly. Very poor choice of words.”

Crowley throws an arm around him and kisses his temple. “I’m only amused, if that’s not clear.”

“Good. I’d hate to spoil the mood.”

In reply, Crowley takes him fully into his arms and kisses him properly, deeply, for so long that Aziraphale melts against him. Breathlessly opening his eyes, he finds Crowley looking at him with a sudden serious tenderness, his eyes glistening. 

“Look how far we’ve come,” Crowley says, voice soft and earnest.

With acute clarity, Aziraphale understands and pulls him to his lips once more. It is often beautifully surreal and incredible to reflect upon their first meeting, standing as strangers on the garden wall, versus now, hearts and bodies entwined, and everything in between.

“I wouldn’t change a thing, my love.”

“Hmm, I might,” Crowley says fondly.

“Oh?”

“We could get married.”

It’s Aziraphale’s turn to gape back at him, wide-eyed—the thought has occurred to him, yes, but he hadn’t planned on voicing it so soon. Then again, _soon _is hardly the right word… 

“Or … forget that, if I’m the one killing the mood.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaims, grinning. “Yes!”

Crowley squints. 

“I mean, no, you’re not killing the mood! Yes to _ marriage_! Absolutely, yes. I'd love nothing more.”

They are both laughing when they resume kissing, and then Crowley is trailing kisses across his jaw over to his ear. Aziraphale’s laughs fade into happy sighs, and he drops to his back, scoots over a bit, and then drapes his legs over Crowley’s waist in silent invitation. 

Crowley takes his meaning and shifts their bodies closer, entering him while still lying on his side. It’s a nice, lazy position that lets them both lie down _ and _gives Crowley easy access to Azriaphale’s cock, which he’s already stroking. When Crowley starts to rock his hips, tongue still exploring Aziraphale’s ear, the sensation is electric. Every nudge against that incredible sweet spot within him evokes a wave of blissful pleasure that Aziraphale can feel all the way to his toes. 

They fall into a wonderful symphony just as before, and Aziraphale loses himself to it all over again. He’s never been so thoroughly relaxed during the act before now, letting his head fall back as his body swells to crescendo again and again and again. Time slips away, and he gleefully loses track of anything that isn’t Crowley filling him or skillfully working his cock with his hand. Every time he comes, it’s rapturous, and Crowley rides and rubs him through to full completion and right over into a renewed arousal. Several times, the feeling makes Aziraphale laugh in a breathy way, and at others, he feels tiny streams of tears running toward his ears. They haven’t done it this way as often, with Crowley inside, but it’s undeniably lovely—it reminds Aziraphale abstractly of the difference between hot cocoa and a fine wine. At some point, he also mentally likens the ongoing union of their bodies to enjoying a perfect chocolate mousse, in that no matter how many bites ones takes, the next always still tastes just as divine. 

“Hmm? Can you go once more, love?” Crowley is saying softly, Azirahpale realizes with a start. 

He’s confused at the question until he snaps back to reality and finds that Crowley has stopped moving, running his fingertips over Aziraphale’s stomach, as he’s left himself soft after the last orgasm some minutes ago … apparently preoccupied by a daydream about _ food_. 

“Oh, good heavens, yes!” he says, quickly readying himself. “Sorry, dear.”

Anchored in the present moment, he pulls Crowley to his lips as they resume, and it surprises him to think that he actually likes the idea of this being their denouement for now. Also occurring to him belatedly is the understanding, in hindsight, that Crowley has hardly paused this whole time, riding out all of Aziraphale’s peaks without ever letting himself release.

Glowing with deeply felt gratitude once again, he runs the tips of his fingers up the back of Crowley’s thigh and up toward his bum, where he dips in and rubs his perineum for a moment, stopping short of touching further back. He looks him in his yellow eyes, then, asking a silent question—how long has Crowley’s brow been so sweaty?—and the response comes as a quick nod. 

Slipping a finger inside, he curls it just so, steadily pressing and easing. Crowley throws his head back at once, moaning anew and thrusting all the while. 

“That’s it, darling, finish with me this time,” Aziraphale soothes, pressing a kiss to his throat.

When Crowley comes, it’s enormous and magnificent—he’s crying out as his whole torso jerks with the delayed release. Aziraphale reaches a final orgasm with happy, tired moans, and then they’re both panting. Crowley withdraws and falls onto him, letting his whole body go limp. 

Aziraphale catches his breath for a moment before moving to gather him into his arms, sweeping damp strands of his auburn hair where it’s stuck to his forehead. Crowley’s eyes are closed, his chest heaving, face beat red. He looks radiant. And _ exhausted_. 

“Oh, my sweet darling, are you alright?”

A smile spreads across Crowley’s face, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “I hope you’re joking.”

Aziraphale kisses his pretty nose and then pulls him into a proper embrace. Crowley makes a half-hearted attempt to hug back with one tired arm and then changes his mind. Aziraphale smiles in sympathy and sits up, pulling a pillow into his lap and easing Crowley onto it. 

“There you are, beautiful,” he says as he starts to stroke his back. “That was so wonderful, my love.”

Crowley licks his lips before responding. “I’m glad, but it's not over. I’m just recharging.”

“Ah, my dear… I rather think we’ve reached a good conclusion for this time.”

At that, Crowley’s eyes are open. He pushes himself up to look Aziraphale in the eyes. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, taking his hand. “I’m really perfectly fine.”

“Yes, I’m _ sure_,” Aziraphale replies, suddenly a bit demure. “Try not to faint.”

Crowley smiles and squeezes his hand. “We can do this again anytime, alright? Just say the word.”

“I will. I promise. Now, lie down and let me rub your back.”

“Mmmm,” Crowley hums in reply, playfully tugging Aziraphale’s arm. “Only if you lie down with me.”

Aziraphale doesn’t need any more convincing, and they lie together, Crowley’s face resting against his chest as Aziraphale runs his fingers over his back. When he moves his hands to Crowley’s hair, raking his fingers through his silky locks, Crowley sighs and reorients himself to give Aziraphale better angles. 

“That’s nice,” Crowley mumbles.

“In that case, I’ll never stop,” Aziraphale replies, heart swelling forty sizes.

“You’re next,” Crowley says, planting a kiss on his chest.

“Ah, darling, you’ve already done so much for me,” Aziraphale answers, pausing the hair-stroking to hold him tightly again. “You’ve always done so much for me, haven’t you? You’re so wonderful and perfect and kind.” 

“Anything for you, ang— Wait.” He pulls back to look him in the eyes. “Azir— Did I _ propose _to you?” 

Aziraphale chuckles. “Indeed, you did.”

Crowley opens his mouth and then closes it again. “I was going to do that differently.”

“Well, you’ll get the same answer if you’d like to ask again,” Aziraphale says, resuming playing with his hair. 

Crowley smiles and re-settles against him. “Oh, I will be asking properly.”

“I look forward to accepting properly.”

They lie in silence for a while, Aziraphale still rubbing his back and hair, projecting as much love and adoration and gratefulness as he can muster so that Crowley is enveloped in it. 

Just when Aziraphale is thinking of suggesting that they return to the world for refreshments, Crowley seems to read his mind. 

“What’s say when we’re vertical and dressed again, we go out for lunch … or supper … breakfast? I’m not entirely sure what time it is anymore.”

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale happily agrees.

In the end, a decade has not passed, after all—only a day and a half. When they do venture out, Azirphale feels as though he’s floating. As they stroll down the street with their arms linked, breathing in the crisp evening air, he’s filled with glorious, beautiful contentment like none he’s ever felt. Like the whole of his being is happily at peace and joyously in love with his _ fiance_. He thoroughly enjoys the flavors of his meal, and the two of them fall into easy conversation, laughing and reminiscing in the soft glow of a single candle on their table. 

For dessert, he orders a chocolate mousse.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my sappy smut! You might also want to check out my sappy [trilogy](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442455%22). <3


End file.
